- by: Herman Melville (1819-1891)
O have known him, to have loved himAfter loneness long;And then to be estranged in life,And neither in the wrong;And now for death to set his seal--Ease me, a little ease, my song! By wintry hills his hermit-moundThe sheeted snow-drifts drape,And houseless there the snow-bird flitsBeneath the fir-trees' crape:Glazed now with ice the cloistral vineThat hid the shyest grape.